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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330197">Stuck Together (Strange But True)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingHazel/pseuds/DarlingHazel'>DarlingHazel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Steve Harrington, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Living Together, M/M, One Shot, Quarantine, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, someones probably already done this but shh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:02:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingHazel/pseuds/DarlingHazel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They're stuck in quarantine together.</p><p>Steve wants to kiss Billy's forehead when he's drunk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stuck Together (Strange But True)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>So, it was a good day out when Steve got the text from Nancy, telling him about COVID-19 and the rules everyone’s got to follow as soon as possible. Leave like, once a week for shopping, then stay inside for the rest of the days and repeat until it’s all passed over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d rushed home once he was done returning his books to the library, thinking that it would be easy, but. He kind of forgot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now he’s kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>shitting himself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He should be used to this, coming home to Billy or Billy coming home to him. They’ve been housing together for months, nearly a year now. But, like, they’re never really home at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>same time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy’s always out on some date or hanging out with his friends or partying, when he’s home he’s either got some girl over and Steve’s got to lock himself in his room or Billy himself is locked in his own room doing God knows what. And Steve, he’s just out with his own friends half the time, and when he’s home he’s either practicing baking in the kitchen, cleaning or studying in his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, they’ve never really talked or interacted that much since moving in. There are the rare occasions where they are both home and not in their rooms or with someone else, and sometimes when that happens they talk or watch a movie. Or, have dinner together. Billy’s not the worst at cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still. Most of the time they’re avoiding each other when they see the other in public, or shit talking the other with their friends. Tommy’s told Steve that Billy’s complained about him countless times before, and Steve knows Max isn’t the best liar at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Therefore, him and Billy do not like each other. At all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except for the rare moments, when Steve’s watching Billy wash the dishes compliantly and feels compelled to reach around and help, when Billy’s laughing at some stupid joke Steve’s made that Nancy didn’t laugh at, when Billy doesn’t bring a girl home on the days Steve’s got to focus on his studies. The moments when they would work better together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Steve won’t ever admit those moments exist. Even if they make him smile or feel a little loopy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quarantine’s gonna be a bitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s pretty sure Billy won’t give a shit, because Billy never follows the rules. So by the time Steve’s opened the front door, Billy should be gone and on a date or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Steve sighs after finding no spare key under the welcome mat. Hopefully Billy will be going later, because he’s pulling out his phone to text the dirty blonde for some help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>tick, but no response. Steve’s pretty close to giving up before he hears a click and looks up to see the doorknob twist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it opens to reveal a very tired Billy Hargrove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exceptionally different to the usual Hargrove look, that’s for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No date?” Steve asks, eyeing Billy up and down. He’s wearing some white hoodie and gray sweatpants, definitely not his style, but his hair is even more out-of-style with how dishevelled it is, curls falling on Billy’s forehead and some even managing to nearly poke his eyes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugs, eyes half-lidded and under-eye bags as untouched as ever, “Girls are pussies. I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can tell,” Steve pushes past him into the house and shrugs off his coat. “Three whole weeks with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indefinitely,” Billy corrects, “don’t set your hopes high.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly. He really hopes he won’t be stuck alone with this asshole for another year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carelessly, Steve slings his coat over the coathanger and combs through his own soft hair. Billy hasn’t moved an inch. He’s literally just </span>
  <em>
    <span>staring at him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removes his fingers from his brown locks to gently push the door shut, staring right back at Billy. “Something on my face?” Steve asks, bites back an insult. He can’t be pissing off this maniac if they’re gonna be stuck together for a long time, he knows how angry Billy can get, especially without his little coping mechanisms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy stands there, quiet, and Steve’s fully convinced he’s high or something before his eyes refocus and scan Steve’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No lipstick today,” he points out simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That. Yeah. Steve chose not to wear lipstick or lip gloss today since he didn’t have anybody to impress, and he flushes right then as he realizes his annoyingly pale-pink lips are on display for Billy. Quickly, he sucks in his lips in a straight face, looking away and hoping his pink cheeks could be blamed on the cold weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold </span>
  </em>
  <span>outside, shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, uh -- just. Nobody to impress, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s a little weirded out that Billy noticed he wears lipstick a lot. He thought it was subtle enough that nobody would ever think to point it out. Maybe Billy’s just looked through the plastic bags Steve’s brought home whenever he’s back from shopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of something burning suddenly fills Steve’s senses, drawing him back to reality just as Billy’s eyes widen with sudden realization. “Shit, my toast,” he grumbles and speed-walks back into the dining room to get to the kitchen. Alright, fair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stretches his back, relief and satisfaction flooding him when he feels that familiar pop. Maybe being stuck with Billy won’t be so bad, they just have to avoid each other even more now. Even though Billy doesn’t have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>dates, </span>
  </em>
  <span>surely he has friends or parties to get to regardless. Tommy’s definitely not a sucker for rules, so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That turns out, beautifully, to not be the case over the next few days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because on the second day of quarantine, Billy ate all the snacks and blasted heavy metal throughout the house, yelling to Steve over the drums that Tommy’s too concerned with his family to host any parties and Carol’s got strict parents like the rest of the girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then on the third, the temperature heightened and Billy stole the ice cream Steve had </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>bought and gave him the finger in response to his complaints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And fuck, on the fourth, Steve was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Billy didn’t sneak out or do </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>to help around the house, and it was supposed to be his turn to wash the dishes but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then Steve had to take responsibility and tucked him in as well as cleaned the house. Even fucking held Billy’s gorgeous curly hair back while he hurled into the toilet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So fucking unfair that all the red flags look like so much fun, and Steve had to hold back from pressing a kiss on Billy’s temple before he went to sleep like all the other times drunk Billy’s tempted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s slumped on the couch and cycling through movies while his phone is on the coffee table vibrating constantly, tired despite waking up mid-afternoon. Steve never woke him up, and he thought that gave him the right to complain. And Steve’s gotta go out to refill on ice creams and foods, as well as figure out someplace to hide away from Billy’s shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell, Billy.” Steve grabs his wallet and then swipes Billy’s phone off the table, much to the blonde’s grumbled annoyance. He turns it on and there’s a bunch of texts from Tommy, talking about how there’ll be a party at Tina’s instead today and people are welcome to stay the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave it,” Billy says, rubbing his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an opportunity to get away from Billy. There’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve’s gonna keep his mouth shut. “There’s a party at Tina’s,” he starts, thriving in how Billy moves his head to look at Steve curiously, “and you’re good to stay the night there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drinks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typical question, and Steve shrugs. “Probably, I dunno. It’d be a pretty shitty party if there weren’t any.” And Billy nods in agreement, sluggish. Despite all their differences the past year, Billy’s been a lot more tired recently. Steve’s not used to this quiet, not-angry Billy. It kind of concerns him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Billy’s not his problem. Billy’s his own problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m heading out for food, and some ice cream, in light of recent events. You going to Tina’s?” Steve asks, placing the phone back down and grabbing the car keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy mimics Steve’s shrug from earlier, albeit lazier, “Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some small, stupid part of Steve hopes that Billy won’t be going, even if all of him knows he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s just Billy Hargrove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves to get all the rations, buys some extra on the side and some </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cinnamon Toast Crunch </span>
  </em>
  <span>alongside extra apple juice, just to get Billy to stop complaining about it. Even if Billy’s only ever complained about it once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s back, the house is dark and he unpacks all the groceries quietly with just the light of the fridge and the moonlight guiding him. He’s never actually figured out Billy’s favorite flavor of ice cream, he thought once that it could’ve been chocolate or strawberries, but then Billy picked mint over both, then right back to strawberries after. So he got a wide variety of flavors in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the bags are emptied and Steve stuffs them in the kitchen drawers for later. He washes his hands at the sink and rubs at his eyes, tired. There’s still that little egg stopwatch on top of the dishwasher that Billy insisted on buying when they first moved in, completely untouched since. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid. Really stupid. That Steve’s fingers just reach out without thinking, and bring the small round object into his palm to roll it around and feel. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumb </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Steve’s just caught in this loop of being dragged in by the smoke coming from Billy’s lungs, then pulled away by the front door closing in his face as the deep blue eyes leave with its owner for another rebellious night. It’s pathetic, how Steve’s heart still distantly beats when they’re having a rare moment of actual communication between each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And honestly sad, that Steve still </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he puts the stopwatch down and rubs his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy’s probably gonna be back tomorrow afternoon or night, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of moping around even more in the kitchen, maybe eating a few snacks, Steve decides to head upstairs to go to bed early just in case Billy’s home in the morning so he can get his much needed rest. His feet drag behind him with every step, drowsy and lazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the soft sounds of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Saint Motel </span>
  </em>
  <span>playing from Billy’s room fill the hallway. It’s so faint, Steve almost misses it up until he’s right by the gaping door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there, lying in bed with his eyes closed and all dressed up but completely untouched, Billy is. Steve really hopes he’s able to appreciate Billy as completely as he deserves to be, and if not, hopefully someone else. Maybe someone else already does. It’s a serene sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His golden locks are draped across the dark pillow so gracefully, yellow light bouncing off his long lashes and outlining his jawline, following the contour of his cheeks. There’s a pair of gloves neglected on the bedside table, right under many posters of Billy’s interests. His legs are up, one crossed over the other casually and so relaxed. It’s so different to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s used to casual and long lashes, but not relaxed and calm yellow lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, Steve knocks on the door, opening it a little more. Billy’s eyes open and his diamond blues focus on Steve without any hint of indifference. So completely new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tina’s?” Steve asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy drops the lighter Steve didn’t notice he was playing with, and sits up, letting his legs uncross and drop limp on the bed. “Decided not to go,” he answers like it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It most definitely isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought the girls were pussies?” And Steve leans on the doorframe, as though the conversation will be kept. He really hopes it will be kept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugs dismissively and places one hand behind his head to lean against the headboard. “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>weird for Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Steve obliges and closes the door behind him, pulling up the wooden chair by Billy’s desk and sitting down. As though something’s gonna last. “What’s up with you, man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better time than ever to break the ice, he guesses. “You’ve been, like, real quiet lately. That’s not very </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy spits, seemingly offended, “quarantine’s just fucking boring. I hate being stuck in this shithole with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That. Stings a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why didn’t you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, “Tina’s a shit friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, no shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>None</span>
  </em>
  <span> of your ‘friends’ are good friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Fuckin’ hate them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you hang out with them. What’s changed?” He’s curious now, because Billy’s suddenly trash talking some of Steve’s ex-friends right in front of him. This is probably the most they’ve ever talked about other people outside of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy goes quiet again, tugs his bottom lip with his teeth in thought. It distracts Steve, up until Billy catches his eye and frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy asks, suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” It rolls like a question in itself, and Billy rolls his eyes before sitting up and leaning into Steve’s space, inches away from his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me. I’m all fuckin’ caked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And. Yeah. It’s true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips are redder than usual, freckles out despite the fact that it’s not hot enough tonight to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bring </span>
  </em>
  <span>them out, and all the under-eye bags are concealed. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>certainly not as much lipstick as Steve uses, but Steve never uses concealer or anything to add to his non-existent freckles. Billy, though…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just as fake as they are. You don’t like that, right?” Billy moves back a bit, pushes away from Steve’s face to glance at the vanity mirror, even though he can’t see himself in it from the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know. You seem pretty --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- You don’t.” Steve clamps his mouth shut when Billy cuts him off. “I don’t like fake either. But it’s all I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, that sounds weird to Steve, because Billy’s honestly always just such a shithead at home, so how would he be any different outside of it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, he remembers the weird old bruises and scars on Billy’s body that he’s never seen before in practice. The things that Billy just barely hid from Steve at home. And he remembers that when Jonathan came over, Billy kept picking on him before leaving, but when Billy was back, he gave Steve some game recommendations to give Jonathan for his anxiety. No insult given at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And oh, it makes sense. It just. Does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why can’t you be yourself?” Steve asks, eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘cause I don’t know the guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s quiet again. And Steve thinks, maybe he can push this further and </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Billy. But then he looks and Billy’s eyes are closed, and he’s turned up his speakers a little more. He’s in his own head space now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve leaves, even if he wants to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the fifth day, they don’t talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the sixth, Billy’s not home and Steve tries not to think about it. He still makes dinner, even if they didn’t agree on if there’d be dinner tonight. Even if it’s untouched the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the eighth, Billy comes through the front door tired again and Steve can’t hide the relief that fills him and his heart when he sees that familiar face again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Party?” Steve asks while putting away the dishes, trying not to look too obvious watching Billy put his bags down on the counter while drinking water. It’s distracting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy scoffs once he’s downed the whole glass, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Nah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, and his eyes travel to the egg stopwatch. “I’m fake too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like hell you’re fake,” Billy snorts. It’s almost insulting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am -- or, well, I was, definitely. King Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard the stories. But you’re not fake now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s just bullshit, because Steve may not be like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fake, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but. Going off what Billy said a few days ago, he thinks he has an idea of what he should be picking at here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I forget how to be myself every now and then,” he says, turning off the tap. Billy’s looking at him. “I don’t like myself sometimes. I just sugarcoat it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got good friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And that makes Billy go quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span> has friends. </span>
  <em>
    <span>King Steve </span>
  </em>
  <span>has enemies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have nobody, really,” Steve confesses dully, forcing a smile. “Quarantine makes no difference. My phone’s not the one vibrating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Billy asks. Like he doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody really knows me. Not even myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy chuckles dryly then sighs. “You’re too fuckin’ vague for me. Jesus, Harrington.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles wider, and shrugs. “I’m just saying that I’m not all real and honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes no sense,” Billy mumbles and licks his lips, eyes downcast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just stands there, hands on the counter, while Steve dries his hands off and double-checks the fridge. When he turns, Billy’s grabbing his bag to leave for his room again, and without thinking, he speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where were you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy turns, brow quirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a weird gaze, one that feels familiar to Steve. Like those days when Steve would look in his reflection, think of the future. Hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My room. Hiding from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a blatant lie, though Steve sincerely hopes he didn’t bring COVID-19 with him, he doesn’t comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, to answer your question from the other day… I do like you.” Steve avoids eye contact, drops his fake-smile to let a real tug of his lips take place instead. “So.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks back up, Billy’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, it’s more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because after that, Billy talks to him more and shows him his favorite songs. Steve never says he already knows, because he listens closely when Billy’s quietly playing them whenever Steve’s supposedly studying. And Steve in turn shows Billy his favorite movies, and Billy tells him he always thought Steve would be a sucker for romcoms. It’s so true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talk like they used to, like, they talk </span>
  <em>
    <span>often, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but now it’s less insults and more indulging in interests. They’re stuck under the same roof, within the same walls, so they can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>see each other anymore. Billy’s invited to a few parties within the two weeks, but he doesn’t go to any of them. Steve always thinks he will, until he hears familiar songs playing from Billy’s bedroom again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy even accompanies him on his weekly trips to the store, helps him buy even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>unnecessary things because </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if they run out </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Steve can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>agree with that logic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Billy’s back and lively. No longer as tired or drowsy, more loud and aggressive and smile-y, and Steve just gets giddy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Third week, Steve’s fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, like, Billy’s drunk again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Billy’s calling him shit like </span>
  <em>
    <span>bambi </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>princess </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it’s getting him all weak in the knees. Like, Steve’s used to hearing some of the pet names, kind of. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s like they hit him so much differently. Like. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pretty boy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy purrs, hands reaching for Steve’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Steve bats the hand away and pulls Billy up from the couch, “You’re going to bed, big guy. It’s ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk up the stairs real clumsily, because Billy’s arm is around Steve and it keeps slowly drifting lower and Steve has to constantly adjust, but the moment they’re in Billy’s bedroom, Steve just tosses Billy onto his bed and sighs heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so fucking tired, dude. Just get under the blankets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’ll get in with me,” Billy giggles like a fucking teenager. Despite his words, he still climbs into the bed and under the sheets, curling up. “C’mere. I wanna touch your hair now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t. It’s time to sleep,” Steve says and pats Billy’s hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sniffs, grins. “Your hand feels nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve seems to linger a little too long, because Billy’s hand suddenly covers his and now he can’t breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re cold,” Billy states.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re warm,” Steve responds. He wants to remove his hand, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>he should, but… fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy slurs, fingers tightening around Steve’s. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“And you’re cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m.. gonna go sleep now,” Steve says and manages to pull his hand out of Billy’s tender grasp. Still, Billy reaches out and pokes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure hope somethin’ happens between us. Quarantine got me going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re drunk.” And he turns the lights off, walks out. It takes a moment to find his lungs again, find out how to breathe. It happens, with a sharp intake, but then he remembers how Billy’s hand felt over his and he’s choking on air again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m fucked, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the next day, he’s got a hand raised, hovering against Billy’s door hesitantly. He could knock, talk about things, or leave and never think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he’s stupid to even think Billy would take it any kinds of well. How can he just tell the other that he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>bi? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Drop a signal that way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door opens and Billy’s there, tired and sweaty from exercising. “I could see you through the gap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I’m…” Steve swallows, averts his eyes. Better to just say it and get it over with. “... bi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay? I already know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Wait, what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Steve looks back, finds Billy grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Did kind of think so, though. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Very </span>
  </em>
  <span>weird question, and Steve’s tongue catches in a knot as he speaks because he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>think, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Uh… dick and pussy are bomb?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I prefer dicks, but go off,” Billy plays along, and Steve’s face is on fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I meant why did you tell me now, dumbass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -- oh, yeah. Uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he say?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Billy leans in, breath hot and cologne filling Steve’s senses. There’s that faint smell of ash coming from inside the bedroom, and Steve can only assume he was smoking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In the goddamn house.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for trusting me,” is all Billy says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And. Wow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucks it all up </span>
  </em>
  <span>because suddenly his eyes water, and widen. “Oh, yeah, oh. I do.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s never told anyone that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s eyes widen as well, and he pulls Steve in a little closer, resting his palm on the other’s cheek. “Shit, baby, what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Baby.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all driving Steve a little crazy. He didn’t think he’d open up this fast, he honestly was too focused on Billy getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>the hints </span>
  </em>
  <span>to remember his actual limits he set for himself. Yet, of all people to have found out first, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not even Nancy or Jonathan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -- I’ve never told… anyone,” he admits, all rushed in a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Really? I thought Wheeler would’ve… shit,” Billy rubs at the single tear that rolls down Steve’s cheek, and then Steve can’t help but be a little selfish as he leans in before completely crushing Billy with a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, he can’t tell if it’s Billy that’s making him cry or the fact that he was able to just say he was bi aloud without judgement. Maybe both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s still at first. But then, after a moment, he wraps his arms around Steve and rubs his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quarantine’s so fucking weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone,” Billy assures. That’s really not what Steve’s scared of, but it’s fine. Because, well, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That means a lot. He holds on tighter, just a little longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a little bit more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, Steve jolts up in bed when all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>catches up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I prefer dicks, but go off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He runs through his head, thinks about what could possibly mean what, if he has </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then he remembers how Billy notices his lips, how Billy’s cautious of his study times and respectful of it, how Billy laughs at his jokes even if they don’t make sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, maybe that’s all nothing. Maybe it’s all stupid and made up but. Steve just wants to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe, he’s gone insane. Because quarantine’s a bitch, and being locked with one person you hate could really warrant anything. Hate-fucking, for example. People get desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Steve’s always been a little on his heels for Billy. And Billy’s always been </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticing </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>respectful. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And, well, if it’s nothing, then, Billy can run away. That thought hurts, but it’s the honest truth. Billy has plenty of other homes he could invade. Like Tina’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that all set in stone, Steve jumps out of bed and tip toes to Billy’s bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks, once. Twice. And before the third, the door opens to reveal a really drowsy and grumpy Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he blurted it out. Ripping off the band aid. Just like before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, Steve’s kind of regretting it. Because Billy’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking at him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>one hand on the door, the other limp. Face devoid of any expression whatsoever. Nothing to tell Steve what’s going on in there. He knows he said that Billy can run away if it’s too much, and he knows that it should all go back to normal if that were the case, but, thinking about it now? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t want Billy to go away. He’s so scared of losing not just the only person in the house during quarantine, but also somebody he genuinely enjoys being around and. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Likes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Loves,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little. He realizes then as he still thinks that, even in his tired state, Billy’s beautiful. It’s kind of love, isn’t it, when Steve wanted to kiss Billy when he was drunk out of his mind and throwing up all ugly and careless. Kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kind of something Steve’s so fucking afraid to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m -- sorry,” Steve laughs, blinks too much, “That was a joke- I mean. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>like you, like, yeah, but -- you know, like, fuck man --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this an answer to my question again? You already answered it,” Billy says, cheeks a little redder than usual. His freckles are out. All natural. So are his eyebags. They just make him look human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, yeah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The question.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve could just say yeah, laugh it off and play it like it’s no biggie. But he, he can’t. Not anymore. He’s in too deep and even though he’s so fucking scared of losing Billy he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say it. He has to tell him, let him know. Maybe Billy will beat the shit out of him like old times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, maybe, maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s brows raise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like -- I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like-like </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. Like. More.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy clears his throat, “Sue me if I’m wrong, but do you mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe. Maybe, maybe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve squeezes his eyes shut, prepares for knuckles or screams or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but all he’s greeted by is nothing. It’s almost worse, the silence. He can feel the tears bubbling. The regret and shame of it all. Maybe Billy didn’t believe him earlier, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>now…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I touch you?” Billy asks softly, much to Steve’s surprise. Maybe it’s mocking. Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve says again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then fingers are on his chin, and he feels warmth coming closer until --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips are pressed against his, so delicately and just barely. Like a brush, a graze, just short of. He moves in, chases the other pair and captures it. And then their lips are</span>
  <em>
    <span> finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>fully slotted together so gently and loosely. His heart blasts, skyrockets and doesn’t stop. It’s like electricity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pull away and Steve opens his eyes, realizing he’s crying. “Oh my God…” he whispers, shakily. It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you too,” Billy mutters, eyes still closed and biting his bottom lip. He’s nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve grabs him by the collar and mashes their lips together, even more furiously. “I’ve liked you for so </span>
  <em>
    <span>long,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says breathlessly when they pull back for air, and then he moves back in and their lips meld together so perfectly, moving against each other in just the right way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pushes him back and presses their foreheads together, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. “I’ve been waiting, Stevie. Since high school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the girls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make out and get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snorts, buries his face in Billy’s neck and breathes in that scent. It’s so fresh and fills his lungs so right. “I love you.” He didn’t mean to say it so fucking early, but he feels so damn safe in Billy’s big arms and he’s crying and he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe </span>
  </em>
  <span>so freshly now and everything feels so sensitive and fuzzy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Billy smile against his hair, and giggles stupidly. “I fuckin’ hate you so much, why’d we stop kissing?” Billy jokes, starts walking back into his room with Steve in his arms still. Steve just keeps his face completely confined in Billy’s hair and neck, “I love you,” he says again, more certain this time. He so totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>does.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy flops back onto the bed and lets Steve fall on top of him, dragging them both under the covers and peppering kisses all over the brunette’s scalp. “Been wanting this for </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so right. It’s so raw, and cotton, and it absolutely floors Steve. His heart fills and goes crazy, his eyes water more and he hiccups into Billy’s chest now. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pulls Steve up until their noses are touching, and wipes his tears. “I love you too,” he says finally. And it’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>real. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing about it is fake, or caked up, or half. It’s so real, and it’s so full, and Steve’s absolutely certain nobody can appreciate that as much as he can. Nobody ever will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then their lips interlock, and they melt into each other’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe being stuck with Billy for another year won’t be so bad after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tumblr | nancywrote</p><p>probably been done before but. i wanted to and i'm tired and i dedicated. thanko yu. gn</p><p>hope your quarantine's been great! my friends have been leeching me for jackboxx (love them still) and quiplash ;D thank you for reading, leave a comment and have a. have. good luck with quarantine!! stay safe!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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